

.^V ^ «i|S ^ A> 

't^j y -4 ^ ” c^ \ * 

0 t y ^ \^ » f. /»*'>'* a' Vi 8 i ^<, 

^ ■: '^O n'^ " ^ 



1 ^' = , x° °.. ^ ^ 

.0^ '^o, ‘- 

- o> »'•»/■ '■'c- 


N C 


o ' t-~^^ " A-^ 

"“ '%. {.^fj 


« » ’ A° °-t. * ' ' 

.'^ .^^%^?A,■'' "V, 


« ik 


/% '3W/ 

«v 1 « . V<^ 0 N c , 

o 

‘ -0 


% O, fO' s' 

O Vs' ^ 


■>'^ Av\ 


^oO' 




4- \ 



'\ '< y 

- ' V 


> «> 


-* 0 »■ \ 


■A^A. .i'- 

■&°^. ''^’ 
’*' ,0^ '^C,, 


N C 


A ' n ^ y'^ A 

\lils A ' 

'A 0°\''^- A ,;* ■>' 

y Ji^df/r'*^^^ “f" -Ok.’ 

■>t-s A 
^ /r> A ' 


'fW; A”. 

> irnim^ i/in^ X* 


t 

'''A 

V" 

* Ai ' 

o 

nO 


>■ 


C" c^ _ 

'?r,. ^AVT' A >.. ."V '“•‘ ssSVo 

* V^' ' 


N C 


•y \ 

o o' =^ 

» 


''A 

""'''■ •■ - '■'*^''^^7. ; V^- c'-'^-vU^'-' 

= sO O, s 

A A '. ■' * 

■"* ./ss-K A ~“’< 5 f° ^S.„,% "’"' 

■> A'^ ^rA.A.% V. 

/. ^ 'V 

^ o 




/ ’ % '%^PV - A 

' “ ° ' V' ‘ ° ~ * A-' ' ° * ' 'co ‘ s ' ' "" . 


•y ^ 

O o' 


■i 

■< S a /T. ''■^ 

<■ A o 1, 

" A- 


N O/ ^ ^ 

- ( ‘O' _ Y * rt ^ 


' ' ,9’ <»s ^ " ^'/- s 


«• 

A "A - 

. i\* y 

-A#' 

> s'”'/, > , /O' *.'•”. 







O’ ^/r?pp^\ -^.^ A^ ' °' 

- I . 'O 0 ’ 

' ^^MMW ’ < -r 

-N^ ' ^ 

o *' 



\l o vO <=>. 


• «V< 

cV 'J 
•c/> «\' 





Sfciv -• ^ //% ® -%V\ O 


\V tP, 


®* \ \ 



0 , v* vN ... •?, ^/ .• ■•' -^c> 


<. ^ ‘ ® -f ■<?. 


c ° « '^' 



<y ^ ' 


^ \ 

'" 0 ^ 0 r- ^ 

:> .'0 O. ^ 

Y * 0 



t -^/ ^ i- 

o $ 

» **'■ •" 

,>o^ V* 

. , ^ .> 
'»'--'« . J »' v^ 

G vw 



.,^■‘' /\.., '^e.,» = ~o’ . 0 - 





\' s ^ ^ / 

V s'w«J 


> V> 

a t 

•j 

-V 

* 

«o 


•S a \ • B ^ 



'f 

•f * *; 


■; 

ct o W//^C^ 

* ,\? v- ^ 

0 i^ K 

" A 2 , \ 

^ v'^ 

^.<i^ ■< ^ V 


"■’ »' •»/ '"c- VV 


J ^ 

'^' ^ o'^ 




AV ^ 


A • v» 


r' 


•< * 0 


> • “ " A 





THE CRANE CLASSICS 


THE GREAT STONE FACE, 

AJSTD 

OTHER STORIES. 


BY 

xTATHANIEL HAWTHOimE. 

'\ 


AVITH BIOGRAPHY AND NOTES 


^ ) > 

MARGAEET HILL McCAETEE, 

Former Teacher of English and American Literature, 
Topeka High School. 


CRANE & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS 
TOPEKA, KANSAS 
1905 










U6RAKY of CONGRtSS 

Iwu Coiiieii r((»(;ejveij 

rtlAV ii> iiiOO 

Uuuyniciit entry 

n, fqor 

CLASS' cu AAC. NW 

// 6>S^L 

COPY B. 

, I ^ <l»* I II I 111 ■ 




Copyright 1905, 

By Crane & Company’, 
Topeka, Kansas. 




!* 

•i 



I 

COITTENTS. 

Page. 

The Great Stone Face 5 

The Snow- Image 83 

A Bell’s Biography 55 


♦ 


THE GREAT STONE FACE. 


One afternoon, when the sun was going down, a mother 
and her little boy sat at the door of their cottage, talking 
about the Great Stone Face. They had but to lift their eyes 
and there it was plainly to be seen, though miles away, with 
the sunshine brightening all its features. 

And what was the Great Stone Face? 

Embosomed amongst a family of lofty mountains, there 
was a valley so spacious that it contained many thousand 
inhabitants. Some of these good people dwelt in log-huts, 
with the black forest all around them, on the steep and dif- 
ficult hillsides. Others had their homes in comfortable 
farm-houses, and cultivated the rich soil on the gentle slopes 
or level surfaces of the valley. Others, again, were congre- 
gated into populous villages, where some wild, highland 
rivulet, tumbling down from its birthplace in the upper 
mountain region, had been caught and tamed by human 
cunning, and compelled to turn the machinery of cotton 
factories. The inhabitants of this valley, in short, were 
numerous, and of many modes of life. But all of them, 
grown people and children, had a kind of familiarity with 20 
the Great Stone Face, although some possessed the gift of 
distinguishing this grand natural phenomenon more per- 
fectly than many of their neighbors. 

The Great Stone Face, then, was a work of Nature in her 

mood of majestic playfulness, formed on the perpendicular 
(5) 


6 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


side of a mountain by some immense rocks, which had been 
thrown together in such a position as, when viewed at a 
proper distance, precisely to resemble the features of the 
human countenance. It seemed as if an enormous giant, 
30 or a Titan, had sculptured his own likeness on the precipice. 
There was Ihe broad arch of the forehead, a hundred feet 
in height; the nose, with its long bridge, and the vast lips, 
whicK7"if they could have spoken, would have rolled their 
thunder accents from one end of the valley to the other. 
True it is, that if the spectator approached too near, he lost 
the- outline of the gigantic visage, and could discern only 
a heap of ponderous and gigantic rocks piled in chaotic ruin 
one upon another. Retracing his steps, however, the won- 
drous features would again be seen; and the further he with- 
40 drew from them, the more like a human face, with all its 
original divinity intact, did they appear; until, as it grew 
dim in the distance, with the clouds and glorified vapor of 
the mountains clustering about it, the Great Stone Face 
seemed positively to be alive. 

It was a happy lot for children to grow up to manhood or 
womanhood with the Great Stone Face before their eyes, 
for all the features were noble, and the expression was at 
once grand and sweet, as if it were the glow of a vast, warm 
heart, that embraced all mankind in its affections, and had 
50 room for more. It was an education only to look at it. 
According to the belief of many people, the valley owed 
much of its fertility to this benign aspect that was con- 
tinually beaming over it, illuminating the clouds, and in- 
fusing its tenderness into the sunshine. 

As we began with saying, a mother and her little boy sat 
at their cottage door, gazing at the Great Stone Face, and 
talking about it. The child’s name was Ernest. 


THE GREAT STONE FACE 


7 


Mother/’ said he, while the Titantic visage smiled on 
him, I wish that it could speak, for it looks so very kindly 
that its voice must needs be pleasant. If I were to see a 
man with such a face, I should love him dearly.” 

^Mf an old prophecy should come to pass,” answered his 
mother, ^^we may see a man, sometime or other, with ex- 
actly such a face as that.” 

^'What prophecy do you mean, dear mother?” eagerly 
inquired Ernest. Pray tell me all about it ! ” 

So his mother told him a story that her own mother had 
told to her, when she herself was younger than little Er-, 
nest; a story, not of things that were past, but of what was 
yet to come; a story, nevertheless, so very old, that even the 
Indians, who formerly inhabited this valley, had heard it 
from their forefathers, to whom, as they affirmed, it had 
been murmured by the mountain streams, and whispered 
by the wind among the tree-tops. The purport was, that, 
at some future day, a child should be born hereabouts, who 
was destined to become the greatest and noblest personage 
of his time, and whose countenance, in manhood, should 
bear an exact resemblance to the Great Stone Face. Not 
a few old-fashioned people, and young ones likewise, in the 
ardor of their hopes, still cherished an enduring faith in 
this old prophecy.. But others, who had seen more of the 
world, had watched and waited till they were weary, and 
had beheld no man with such a face, nor any man that 
proved to be much greater or nobler than his neighbors, 
concluded it to be nothing but an idle tale. At all events, 
the great man of the prophecy had not yet appeared. 

^‘0 mother, dear mother!” cried Ernest, clapping his 
hands above his head, “I do hope I shall live to see him.” 
His mother was an affectionate and thoughtful woman, and 


8 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


felt that it was wisest not to discourage the generous hopes 
of her little boy. So she only said to him, '‘Perhaps you 
may.” 

And Ernest never forgot the story that his mother told 
him. It was always in his mind, whenever he looked upon 
the Great Stone Face. He spent his childhood in the log- 
cottage where he was born, and was dutiful to his mother, 
and helpful to her in many things, assisting her much with 
his little hands, and more with his loving heart. In this 
manner, from a happy, yet often pensive child, he grew up to 
be a mild, quiet, unobtrusive boy, and sun-browned with 
labor in the fields, but with more intelligence brightening 
his aspect than is seen in many lads who have been taught 
at famous schools. Yet Ernest had had no teacher, save only 
that the Great Stone Face became one to him. When the 
toil of the day was over, he would gaze at it for hours, until 
he began to imagine that those vast features recognized 
him, and gave him a smile of kindness and encouragement, 
responsive to his own look of veneration. We must not take 
upon us to affirm that this was a mistake, although the Face 
110 may have looked no more kindly at Ernest than at all the 
world besides. But the secret was, that the boy’s tender 
and confiding simplicity discerned what other people could 
not see; and thus the love, which was meant for all, became 
his peculiar portion. 

About this time, there went a rumor throughout the val- 
ley that the great man, foretold from ages long ago, who 
was to bear a resemblance to the Great Stone Face had ap- 
peared at last. It seems that, many years before, a young 
man had migrated from the valley and settled at a distant 
120 seaport, where, after getting together a little money, he 
had set up as a shopkeeper. His nanie — but I could never 


THE GREAT STONE FACE 


9 


learn whether it was his real one, or a nickname that had 
grown out of his habits and success in life — was Gather- 
gold. Being shrewd and active, and endowed by Provi- 
dence with that inscrutable faculty which develops itself 
in what the world calls luck, he became an exceedingly rich 
merchant, and owner of a whole fleet of bulky-bottomed 
ships. All the countries of the globe appeared to join 
hands for the mere purpose of adding heap after heap to 
the mountainous accumulation of this one man’s wealth. 
The cold regions of the north, almost within the gloom and 
shadow of the Arctic Circle, sent him their tribute in the 
shape of furs; hot Africa sifted for him the golden sands of 
her rivers, and gathered up the ivory tusks of her great ele- 
phants out of the forests; the East came bringing him the 
rich shawls, and spices, and teas, and the effulgence of dia- 
monds, and the gleaming purity of large pearls. The ocean, 
not to be behindhand with the earth, yielded up her mighty 
whales, that Mr. Gathergold might sell their oil, and make a 
profit on it. Be the original commodity what it might, it 
was gold within his grasp. It might be said of him as of 
Midas in the fable, that whatever he touched with his An- 
ger immediately glistened, and grew yellow, and was 
changed at once into sterling metal, or, which suited him 
still better, into piles of coin. And when Mr. Gathergold 
had become so very rich that it would have taken him a 
hundred years only to count his wealth, he bethought him- 
self of his native valley, and resolved to go back thither, 
and end his days where he was born. With this purpose in 
view, he sent a skillful architect to build him such a palace isi 
as should be fit for a man of his vast wealth to live in. 

As I have said above, it had already been rumored in 
the valley that Mr. Gathergold had turned out to be the 


10 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


prophetic personage so long and vainly looked for, and that 
his visage was the perfect and undeniable similitude of the 
Great Stone Face. People were the more ready to believe 
that this must needs be the fact, when they beheld the 
splendid edifice that rose, as if by enchantment, on the site 
of his father’s old weather-beaten farmhouse. The exte- 
160 rior was of marble, so dazzingly white that it seemed as 
though the whole structure might melt away in the sun- 
shine, like those humbler ones which Mr. Gathergold, in 
his young play-days, before his fingers were gifted with the 
touch of transmutation, had been accustomed to build of 
snow. It had a richly ornamented portico, supported by 
tall pillars, beneath which was a lofty door, studded with 
silver knobs, and made of a kind of variegated wood that 
had been brought from beyond the sea. The windows, 
from the floor to the ceiling of each stately apartment, 
170 were composed, respectively, of but one enormous pane of 
glass, so transparently pure that it was said to be a finer 
medium than even the vacant atmosphere. Hardly any- 
body had been permitted to see the interior of this palace; 
but it was reported, and with good semblance of truth, to 
be far more gorgeous than the outside, insomuch that what- 
ever was iron or brass in other houses was silver or gold in 
this; and Mr. Gathergold’s bedchamber, especially, made 
such a glittering appearance that no ordinary man would 
have been able to close his eyes there. But, on the other 
180 hand, Mr. Gathergold was now so inured to wealth, that 
perhaps he could not have closed his eyes unless where the 
gleam of it was certain to find its way beneath his eyelids. 

In due time the mansion was finished; next came the up- 
holsterers, with magnificent furniture; then a whole troop 
of black and white servants, the harbingers of Mr. Gather- 


THE GREAT STONE FACE 


11 


gold, who, in his own majestic person, was expected to 
arrive at sunset. Our friend Ernest, meanwhile, had been 
deeply stirred by the idea that the great man, the noble 
man, the man of prophecy, after so many ages of delay was 
at length to be made manifest to his native valley. He 
knew, boy as he was, that there were a thousand ways in 
which Mr. Gathergold, with his vast wealth, might trans- 
form himself into an angel of beneffcence, and assume a 
control over human affairs as wide and benignant as the 
smile of the Great Stone Face. Full of faith and hope, 
Ernest doubted not that what the people said was true, 
and that now he was to behold the living likeness of those 
wondrous features on the mountain-side. Wliile the boy 
was still gazing up the valley, and fancying, as he always 
did, that the Great Stone Face returned his gaze and looked ^ 
kindly at him, the rumbling of wheels was heard, approach- 
ing swiftly along the winding road. 

^^Here he comes!” cried a group of people who were as- 
sembled to witness the arrival. ^‘Here comes the great 
Mr. Gathergold ! ” 

A carriage, drawn by four horses, dashed round the turn 
of the road. Within it, thrust partly out of the window, 
appeared the physiognomy of a little old man, with a skin 
as yellow as if his own Midas-hand had transmuted it. 
He had a low forehead, small, sharp eyes, puckered about 210 
with innumerable wrinkles, and very thin lips, which he 
made still thinner by pressing them forcibly together. 

^^The very image of the Great Stone Face!” shouted the 
people. ^‘Sure enough, the old prophecy is true; and here 
we have the great man come, at last!” 

And, what greatly perplexed Ernest, they seemed actu- 
ally to believe that here was the likeness which they spoke 


12 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


of. By the roadside there chanced to be an old beggar- 
woman and two little beggar-children, stragglers from some 
far-off region, who, as the carriage rolled onward, held out 
their hands and lifted up their doleful voices, most piteously 
beseeching charity. A yellow claw — the very same that 
had clawed together so much wealth — poked itself out of 
the coach-window, and dropped some copper coins upon 
the ground; so that, though the great man’s name seems to 
have been Gathergold, he might just as suitably have been 
nicknamed Scattercopper. Still, nevertheless, with an ear- 
nest shout, and evidently with as much good faith as ever, 
the people bellowed: ^^He is the very image of the Great 
Stone Face!” 

But Ernest turned sadly from the wrinkled shrewdness 
of that sordid visage, and gazed up the valley, where, amid 
a gathering mist, gilded by the last sunbeams, he could still 
distinguish those glorious features which had impressed 
themselves into his soul. Their aspect cheered him. 
AVhat did the benign lips seem to say? ^‘He will come! 
Fear not, Ernest; the man will come!” 

The years went on, and Ernest ceased to be a boy. He 
had grown to be a young man now. He attracted little 
240 notice from the other inhabitants of the valley; for they 
saw nothing remarkable in his way of life, save that, when 
the labor of the day was over, he still loved to go apart and 
gaze and meditate upon the Great Stone Face. According 
to their idea of the matter, it was a folly, indeed, but par- 
donable, inasmuch as Ernest was industrious, kind, and 
neighborly, and neglected no duty for the sake of indulg- 
ing this idle habit. They knew not that the Great Stone 
Face had become a teacher to him, and that the sentiment 
which was expressed in it would enlarge the young man’s 


THE GREAT STONE FACE 


13 


heart, and fill it with wider and deeper sympathies than 
other hearts. They knew not that thence would come a 
better wisdom than could be learned from books, and a 
better life than could be molded on the defaced example 
of other human lives. Neither did Ernest know that the 
thoughts and affections which came to him so naturally, 
in the fields and at the fireside, and wherever he communed 
with himself, were of a higher tone than those which all 
men shared with him. A simple soul, — simple as when his 
mother first taught him the old prophecy, he beheld the 
marvelous features beaming adown the valley, and still 
wondered that their human counterpart was so long in 
making his appearance. 

By this time poor Mr. Gathergold was dead and buried; 
and the oddest part of the matter was, that his wealth, 
which was the body and spirit of his existence, had disap- 
peared before his death, leaving nothing of him but a liv- 
ing skeleton, covered over with a wrinkled, yellow skin. 
Since the melting away of his gold, it had been very gener- 
ally conceded that there was no such striking resemblance, 
after all, betwixt the ignoble features of the ruined merchant 
and that majestic face upon the mountain-side. So the 
people ceased to honor him during his lifetime, and quietly 
consigned him to forgetfulness after his decease. Once in 
a while, it is true, his memory was brought up in connection 
with the magnificent palace which he had built, and which 
had long ago been turned into a hotel for the accommoda- 
tion of strangers, multitudes of whom came, every summer, 
to visit that famous natural curiosity, the Great Stone Face. 
Thus, Mr. Gathergold being discredited and thrown into the 
shade, the man of prophecy was yet to come. 

It so happened that a native-born son of the valley, 


260 

260 

270 

280 


14 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


many years before, had enlisted as a soldier, and, after a 
great deal of hard fighting, had now become an illustrious 
commander. Whatever he may be called in history, he 
was known in camps and on the battlefield under the nick- 
name of Old Blood-and-Thunder. This war-worn veteran, 
being now infirm with age and wounds, and weary of the 
turmoil of a military life, and of the roll of the drum and 
the clangor of the trumpet, that had so long been ringing 
290 in his ears, had lately signified a purpose of returning to his 
native valley, hoping to find repose where he remembered 
to have left it. The inhabitants, his old neighbors and 
their grown-up children, were resolved to welcome the re- 
nowned warrior with a salute of cannon and a public din- 
ner; and all the more enthusiastically, it being affirmed that 
now, at last, the likeness of the Great Stone Face had ac- 
tually appeared. An aid-de-camp of Blood-and-Thunder, 
traveling through the valley, was said to have been struck 
with the resemblance. Moreover, the schoolmates and 
300 early acquaintances of the general were ready to testify, on 
oath, that, to the best of their recollection, the aforesaid 
general had been exceedingly like the majestic image, even 
when a boy, only that the idea had never occurred to them 
at that period. Great, therefore, was the excitement 
throughout the valley; and many people, who had never 
once thought of glancing at the Great Stone Face for years 
before, now spent their time in gazing at it, for the sake of 
knowing exactly how General Blood-and-Thunder looked. 

On the day of the great festival, Ernest, with all the other 
310 people of the valley, left their work, and proceeded to the 
spot where the sylvan banquet was prepared. As he ap- 
proached, the loud voice of the Rev. Dr. Battleblast was 
heard, beseeching a blessing on the good things set before 


THE GREAT STONE FACE 


15 


them, and on the distinguished friend of peace in whose 
honor they were assembled. The tables were arranged in 
a cleared space in the woods, shut in by the surrounding 
trees, except where a vista opened eastward, and afforded 
a distant view of the Great Stone Face. Over the general’s 
chair, w^hich was a relic from the home of Washington, 
there was an arch of verdant boughs, with the laurel pro- 320 
fusely intermixed, and surmounted by his country’s banner, 
beneath which he had won his victories. Our friend Ernest 
raised himself on his tiptoes, in hopes to get a glimpse of the 
celebrated guest; but there was a mighty crowd about the 
tables anxious to hear the toasts and speeches, and to catch 
any word that might fall from the general in reply; and a 
volunteer company, doing duty as a guard, pricked ruth- 
lessly with their bayonets at any particularly quiet person 
among the throng. So Ernest, being of an unobtrusive 
character, was thrust quite into the background, where he 
could see no more of Old Blood-and-Thunder’s physiog- 
nomy than if it had been still blazing on the battlefield. 

To console himself, he turned toward the Great Stone Face, 
which like a faithful and long-remembered friend, looked 
back and smiled upon him through the vista of the forest. 
Meantime, however, he could overhear the remarks of 
various individuals, who were comparing the features of 
the hero with the face on the distant mountain-side. 

^^’Tis the same face, to a hair!” cried one man, cutting 
a caper for joy. ‘‘Wonderfully like, that’s a fact!” re- 340 
sponded another. “Like! Why, I call it Old Blood-and- 
Thunder himself, in a monstrous looking-glass!” cried a 
third. “And why not? He’s the greatest man of this or 
any other age, beyond a doubt.” 

And then all three of the speakers gave a great shout, 


16 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


which communicated electricity to the crowd, and called 
forth a roar from a thousand voices, that went reverberating 
for miles among the mountains, until you might have sup- 
posed that the Great Stone Face had poured its thunder- 
breath into the cry. All these comments, and this vast en- 
thusiasm, served the more to interest our friend; nor did he 
think of questioning that now, at length, the mountain- vis- 
age had found its human counterpart. It is true, Ernest 
had imagined that this long-looked-for personage would 
appear in the character of a man of peace, uttering wisdom, 
and doing good, and making people happy. But, taking 
an habitual breadth of view, with all his simplicity, he 
contended that Providence should choose its own method 
of blessing mankind, and could conceive that this great 
360 end might be effected even by a warrior and a bloody 
sword, should inscrutable wisdom see fit to order mat- 
ters so. 

The General ! The General ! ” was now the cry. Hush ! 
Silence! Old Blood -and -Thunder’s going to make a 
speech.” 

Even so; for, the cloth being removed, the general’s 
health had been drunk amid shouts of applause, and he now 
stood upon his feet to thank the company. Ernest saw 
him. There he was, over the shoulders of the crowd, from 
370 the two glittering epaulets and embroidered collar upward, 
beneath the arch of green boughs with intertwined laurel, 
and the banner drooping as if to shade his brow. And 
there, too, visible in the same glance, through the vista of 
the forest, appeared the Great Stone Face! And was there, 
indeed, such a resemblance as the crowd had testified? 
Alas, Ernest could not recognize it! He beheld a war-worn 
and weather-beaten countenance, full of energy, and ex- 


THE GREAT STONE FACE 


17 


pressive of an iron will; but the gentle wisdom, the deep, 
broad, tender sympathies, were altogether wanting in Old 
Blood-and-Thunder’s visage; and even if the Great Stone sso 
Face had assumed his look of stern command, the milder 
traits would still have tempered it. 

^‘This is not the man of prophecy,” sighed Ernest to 
himself, as he made his way out of the throng. ^‘And 
must the world wait longer yet?” 

The mists had congregated about the distant mountain- 
side, and there were seen the grand and awful features of the 
Great Stone Face, awful but benignant, as if a mighty angel 
were sitting among the hills, and enrobing himself in a 
cloud-vesture of gold and purple. As he looked, Ernest 
could hardly believe but that a smile beamed over the whole 
visage, with a radiance still brightening, although without 
motion of the lips. It was probably the effect of the west- 
ern sunshine, melting through the thinly diffused vapors 
that had swept between him and the object that he gazed 
at. But — as it always did — the aspect of his marvelous 
friend made Ernest as hopeful as if he had never hoped in 
vain. 

^^Fear not, Ernest,” said his heart, even as if the Great 
Face were whispering him, ^Tear not, Ernest; he wilP^ 
come.” 

More years sped swiftly and tranquilly away. Ernest 
still dwelt in his native valley, and was now a man of middle 
age. By imperceptible degrees, he had become known 
among the people. Now, as heretofore, he labored for his 
bread, and was the same simple-hearted man that he had 
always been. But he had thought and felt so much, he 
had given so many of the best hours of his life to unworldly 
hopes for some great good to mankind, that it seemed as 


18 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


though he had been talking with the angels, and had im- 
bibed a portion of their wisdom unawares. It was visible 
in the calm and well-considered beneficence of his daily 
life, the quiet stream of which had made a wide green mar- 
gin all along its course. Not a day passed by, that the 
world was not the better because this man, humble as he 
was, had lived. He never stepped aside from his own path, 
yet would always reach a blessing to his neighbor. Almost 
involuntarily, too, he had become a preacher. The pure and 
high simplicity of his thought, which, as one of its mani- 
festations, took shape in the good deeds that dropped 
silently from his hand, flowed also forth in speech. He 
uttered truths that wrought upon and molded the lives of 
those who heard him. His auditors, it may be, never sus- 
pected that Ernest, their own neighbor and familiar friend, 
was more than an ordinary man; least of all did Ernest him- 
self suspect it; but, inevitably as the murmur of a rivulet, 
came thoughts out of his mouth that no other human lips 
had spoken. 

When the people’s minds had had a little time to cool, 
they were ready enough to acknowledge their mistake in 
imagining a similarity between General Blood-and-Thun- 
der’s truculent physiognomy and the benign visage on the 
mountain-side. But now, again, there were reports and 
many paragraphs in the newspapers, affirming that the like- 
ness of the Great Stone Face had appeared upon the broad 
shoulders of a certain eminent statesman. He, like Mr. 
Gathergold and Old Blood-and-Thunder, was a native of 
the valley, but had left it in his early days, and taken up the 
trades of law and politics. Instead of the rich man’s wealth 
440 and the warrior’s sword, he had but a tongue, and it was 
mightier than both together. So wonderfully eloquent was 


THE GREAT STONE FACE 


19 


he, that whatever he might choose to say, his auditors had 
no choice but to believe him; wrong looked like right, and 
right like wrong; for when it pleased him, he could make a 
kind of illuminated fog with his mere breath, and obscure 
the natural daylight with it. His tongue, indeed, was a 
magic instrument: sometimes it rumbled like the thunder; 
sometimes it warbled like the sweetest music. It was the 
blast of war — the song of peace; and it seemed to have a 
heart in it, when there was no such matter. In good truth, 
he was a wondrous man; and when his tongue had acquired 
him all other imaginable success; when it had been heard in 
halls of state, and in the courts of princes and potentates; 
after it had made him known all over the world, even as a 
voice crying from shore to shore, it finally persuaded his 
countrymen to select him for the Presidency. Before this 
time, — indeed, as soon as he began to grow celebrated, — 
his admirers had found out the resemblance between him 
and the Great Stone Face; and so much were they struck 
by it, that throughout the country this distinguished gen- 
tleman was known by the name of Old Stony Phiz. 

While his friends were doing their best to make him Pres- 
ident, Old Stony Phiz set out on a visit to the valley where 
he was born. Of course, he had no other object than to 
shake hands with his fellow-citizens, and neither thought 
nor cared about any effect which his progress through the 
country might have upon the election. Magnificent prepa- 
rations were made to receive the illustrious statesman; a 
cavalcade of horsemen set forth to meet him at the bound- 
ary line of the state, and all the people left their business 470 
and gathered along the w^ayside to see him pass. Among 
these was Ernest. Though more than once disappointed, 
as we have seen, he had such a hopeful and confiding na- 


20 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


ture, that he was always ready to believe in whatever 
seemed beautiful and good. He kept his heart continually 
open, and thus was sure to catch the blessing from on high, 
when it should come. So now again, as buoyantly as ever, 
he went forth to behold the likeness of the Great Stone Face. 

The cavalcade came prancing along the road, with a great 
480 clattering of hoofs and a mighty cloud of dust, which rose 
up so dense and high that the visage of the mountain-side 
was completely hidden from Ernest’s eyes. All the great 
men of the neighborhood were there on horseback: militia 
officers in uniform; the member of Congress; the sheriff of 
the county; the editors of newspapers; and many a farmer, 
too, had mounted his patient steed, with his Sunday coat 
upon his back. It really was a very brilliant spectacle, es- 
pecially as thel-e were numerous banners flaunting over the 
cavalcade, on some of wffiich were gorgeous portraits of the 
490 illustrious statesman and the Great Stone Face, smiling 
familiarly at one another, like two brothers. If the pictures 
were to be trusted, the mutual resemblance, it must be con- 
fessed, was marvelous. We must not forget to mention 
that there was a band of music, which made the echoes of 
the mountains ring and reverberate with the loud triumph 
of its strains; so that airy and soul- thrilling melodies broke 
out among all the heights and hollows, as if every nook of 
his native valley had found a voice to welcome the distin- 
guished guest. But the grandest effect was when the far- 
500 off mountain precipice flung back the music; for then 
the Great Stone Face itself seemed to be swelling the 
triumphant chorus, in acknowdedgment that at length 
the man of prophecy was come. 

All this while the people were throwing up their hats and 
shouting with enthusiasm so contagious that the heart of 


THE GREAT STONE FACE 


21 


Ernest kindled up, and he likewise threw up his hat, and 
shouted, as loudly as the loudest, Huzza for the great man ! 
Huzza for Old Stony Phiz!” But as yet he had not seen 
him. 

^^Here he is, now!” cried those who stood near Ernest, 

There! There! Look at Old Stony Phiz and then at the 
Old Man of the Mountain, and see if they are not as like as 
two twin brothers!” 

In the midst of all this gallant array came an open ba- 
rouche drawn by four white horses; and in the barouche, 
with his massive head uncovered, sat the illustrious states- 
man, Old Stony Phiz himself. 

Confess it,” said one of ErnesPs neighbors to him, the 
Great Stone Face has met its match at last!” 

Now, it must be owned that at his first glimpse of the 520 
countenance which was bowing and smiling from the ba- 
rouche, Ernest did fancy that there was a resemblance be- 
tween it and the old familiar face upon the mountain-side. 
The brow, with its massive depth and loftiness, and all the 
other features, indeed, were boldly and strongly hewn, as if 
in emulation of a more than heroic, of a Titanic model. But 
the sublimity and stateliness, the grand expression of a di- 
vine sympathy, that illuminated the mountain-visage, and 
etherialized its ponderous granite substance into spirit, 
might here be sought in vain. Something had been origi- 
nally left out, or had departed. And therefore the marvel- 
ously gifted statesman had always a weary gloom in the 
deep caverns of his eyes, as of a child that has outgrown its 
playthings, or a man of mighty faculties and little aims, 
whose life, with all its high performances, was vague and 
empty, because no high purpose had endowed it with re- 
ality. 


22 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


Still, Ernest’s neighbor was thrusting his elbow into his 
side, and pressing him for an answer. 

540 ^‘Confess! Confess! Is not he the very picture of your 
Old Man of the Mountain?” 

^^No!” said Ernest, bluntly, ‘‘1 see little or no likeness.” 

^‘Then so much the worse for the Great Stone Face! ” 
answered his neighbor; and again he set up a shout for 
Old Stony Phiz. 

But Ernest turned away, melancholy, and almost de- 
spondent; for this was the saddest of his disappointments, 
to behold a man who might have fulfilled the prophecy, and 
had not willed to do so. Meantime, the cavalcade, the ban- 
550 ners, the music, and the barouches swept past him, with the 
vociferous crowd in the rear, leaving the dust to settle down, 
and the Great Stone Face to be revealed again, with the 
grandeur that it had worn for untold centuries. 

^‘Lo, here I am, Ernest!” the benign lips seemed to say. 
“I have waited longer than thou, and am not yet weary. 
Fear not; the man will come.” 

The years hurried onward, treading in their haste on one 
another’s heels. And now they began to bring white hairs, 
and scatter them over the head of Ernest; they made rever- 
660 end wrinkles across his forehead, and furrows in his cheeks. 
He was an aged man. But not in vain had he grown old : 
more than the white hairs on his head were the sage thoughts 
in his mind; his wrinkles and furrows were inscriptions that 
Time had graved, and in which he had written legends of 
wisdom that had been tested by the tenor of a life. And 
Ernest had ceased to be obscure. Unsought for, undesired, 
had come the fame which so many seek, and made him 
known in the great world, beyond the limits of the valley in 
which he had dwelt so quietly. College professors, and 


THE GREAT STONE FACE 


23 


even the active men of cities, came from far to see and con- 
verse with Ernest; for the report had gone abroad that this 
simple husbandman had ideas unlike those of other men, 
not gained from books, but of a higher tone, — a tranquil and 
familiar majesty, as if he had been talking with the angels 
as his daily friends. Wliether it were sage, statesman, or 
philanthropist, Ernest received these visitors with the 
gentle sincerity that had characterized him from boyhood, 
and spoke freely with them of whatever came uppermost, 
or lay deepest in his heart or their own. While they talked 
together, his face would kindle, unawares, and shine upon 
them, as with a mild evening light. Pensive with the full- 
ness of such discourse, his guests took leave and went their 
way; and, passing up the valley, paused to look at the Great 
Stone Face, imagining that they had seen its likeness in a 
human countenance, but could not remember where. 

^ While Ernest had been growing up and growing old, a 
bountiful Providence had granted a new poet to this earth. 
He, likewise, w^as a native of the valley, but had spent the 
greater part of his life at a distance from that romantic re- 
gion, pouring out his sweet music amid the bustle and din of 
cities. Often, however, did the mountains which had been 
familiar to him in his childhood lift their snowy peaks into 
the clear atmosphere of his poetry. Neither was the Great 
Stone Face forgotten, for the poet had celebrated it in an 
ode, which was grand enough to have been uttered by its 
own majestic lips. This man of genius, we may say, had 
come down from heaven with wonderful endowments. If 
he sang of a mountain, the eyes of all mankind beheld a 
mightier grandeur reposing on its breast, or soaring to its 
summit, than had before been seen there. If his theme 
were a lovely lake, a celestial smile had now been thrown 


670 

580 

590 

600 


24 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


over it, to gleam forever on its surface. If it were the vast 
old sea, even the deep immensity of its dread bosom seemed 
to swell the higher, as if moved by the emotions of the song. 
Thus the world assumed another and a better aspect from 
the hour that the poet blessed it with his happy eyes. The 
Creator had bestowed him, as the last, best touch to his 
^ handiwork. Creation was not finished till the poet came 

Vi 

0^ to interpret, and so complete it. 

'eio The effect was no less high and beautiful, when his human 
brethren were the subject of his verse. The man or woman, 
sordid with the common dust of life, who crossed his daily 
path, and the little child who played in it, were glorified if 
he beheld them in his mood of poetic faith. He showed the 
golden links of the great chain that intertwined them with 
an angelic kindred; he brought out the hidden traits of a 
celestial birth that made them worthy of such kin. Some, 
indeed, there were, who thought to show the soundness of 
their judgment by affirming that all the beauty and dig- 
620 nity of the natural world existed only in the poet’s fancy. 
Let such men speak for themselves, who undoubtedly ap- 
pear to have been spawned forth by Nature with a con- 
temptuous bitterness; she having plastered them up out of 
her refuse stuff, after all the swine were made. As respects 
all things else, the poet’s ideal was the truest truth. 

The songs of this poet found their way to Ernest. He 
read them after his customary toil, seated on the bench be- 
fore the cottage door, where, for such a length of time, he 
had filled his repose with thought, by gazing at the Great 
630 Stone Face. And now, as he read stanzas that caused the 
soul to thrill within him, he lifted his eyes to the vast coun- 
tenance beaming on him so benignantly. ^ t- ' , 


THE GREAT STONE FACE 


25 


^^0 majestic friend/’ he murmured, addressing the Great 
Stone Face, ^Gs not this man worthy to resemble thee?” 

The Face seemed to smile, but answered not a word. 

Now it happened that the poet, though he dwelt so far 
away, had not only heard of Ernest, but had meditated 
much upon his character, until he deemed nothing so desir- 
able as to meet this man, whose untaught wisdom walked 
hand in hand with the noble simplicity of his life. One 
summer morning, therefore, he took passage by the rail- 
road, and, in the decline of the afternoon, alighted from the 
cars at no great distance from Ernest’s cottage. The great 
hotel, which had formerly been the palace of Mr. "Gather- 
gold, was close at hand, but the poet, with his carpet-bag 
on his arm, inquired at once where Ernest dwelt, and was 
resolved to be accepted as his guest. 

Approaching the door, he there found the good old man, 
holding a volume in his hand, which alternately he read, 
and then, with a finger between the leaves, looked lovingly 
at the Great Stone Face. 

^^Good-evening,” said the poet. ^‘Can you give a trav- 
eler a night’s lodging?” 

^‘Willingly,” answered Ernest; and then he added, smil- 
ing, ^^Methinks I never saw the Great Stone Face look so 
hospitably at a stranger.” 

The poet sat down on the bench beside him, and he and^ 
Ernest talked together. Often had the poet held inter- 
course with the wittiest and wisest, but never before with 
a man like Ernest, whose thoughts and feelings gushed up 
with such a natural freedom, and who made great truths so 
familiar by his'simple utterance of them. Angels, as had 
been so often said, seemed to have wrought with him at his 
labor in the fields ;’’angels seemed to have sat with him by 


26 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


the fireside; and, dwelling with angels as friend with friends, 
he had imbibed the sublimity of their ideas, and imbued it 
with the sweet and lowly charm of household words. So 
thought the poet. And Ernest, on the other hand, was 
moved and agitated by the living images which the poet 
flung out of his mind, and which peopled all the air about 
the cottage door with shapes of beauty, both gay and pen- 
sive. The sympathies of these two men instructed them 
with a profounder sense than either could have attained 
alone. Their minds accorded into one strain, and made de- 
lightful music which neither of them could have claimed as 
all his own, nor distinguish his own share from the other’s. 
They led one another, as it were, into a high pavilion of 
their thoughts, so remote and hitherto so dim, that they 
had never entered it before, and so beautiful that they de- 
680 sired to be there always. 

As Ernest listened to the poet, he imagined that the Great 
Stone Face was bending forward to listen, too. He gazed 
earnestly into the poet’s glowing eyes. 

‘‘Who are you, my strangely gifted guest?” he said. 

The poet laid his finger on the volume that Ernest had 
been reading. “You have read these poems,” said he. “You 
know me, then, — for I wrote them.” 

Again, and still more earnestly than before, Ernest exam- 
ined the poet’s features; then turned toward the Great Stone 
630 Face; then back, with an uncertain aspect, to his guest. 
But his countenance fell; he shook his head, and sighed. 

“Wherefore are you sad?” inquired the poet. 

“Because,” replied Ernest, “all through life I have 
awaited the fulfillment of a prophecy; and, when I read 
these poems, I hoped that it might be fulfilled in you.” 

“You hoped,” answered the poet, faintly smiling, “to 


THE GREAT STONE FACE 


27 


find in me the likeness of the Great Stone Face. And you 
are disappointed, as formerly with Mr. Gathergold, and Old 
Blood-and-Thunder, and Old Stony Phiz. Yes, Ernest, it 
is my doom. You must add my name to the illustrious 
three, and record another failure of your hopes. For — in 
shame and sadness do I speak it, Ernest — I am not worthy 
to be typified by yonder benign and majestic image.” 

^^And why?” asked Ernest. He pointed to the volume. 
^‘Are not those thoughts divine?” 

^'^‘They have a strain of the Divinity,” replied the poet. 

^ ‘ You can hear in them the far-off echo of the heavenly song. 
But my life, dear Ernest, has not corresponded with my 
thought. I have had grand dreams, but they have been 
only dreams, because I have lived — and that, too, by my 710 
own choice — among poor and mean realities. Sometimes 
even — shall I dare to say it? — I lack faith in the grandeur, 
the beauty and the goodness which my own works are said 
to have made more evident in nature and in human life. 
Why, then, poor seeker of the good and true, shouldst thou 
hope to find me in yonder image of the divine? ” 

The poet spoke sadly, and his eyes were dim with tears. 
So, likewise, were those of Ernest. 

At the hour of sunset, as had long been his frequent cus- 
tom, Ernest was to discourse to an assemblage of the neigh- 720 
boring inhabitants, in the open air. He and the poet, arm 
in arm, still talking together as they went along, proceeded 
to the spot. It was a small nook among the hills, with a 
gray precipice behind, the stern front of which was relieved 
by the pleasant foliage of many creeping plants, that made a 
tapestry for the naked rock, by hanging their festoons from 
all its rugged angles. At a small elevation above the 
ground, set in a rich framework of verdure, there appeared a 


28 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


niche, spacious enough to admit a human figure, with free- 
dom for such gestures as spontaneously accompany earnest 
thought and genuine emotion. Into this natural pulpit 
Ernest ascended, and threw a look of familiar kindness 
around upon his audience. They stood, or sat, or reclined 
upon the grass, as seemed good to each, with the departing 
sunshine falling obliquely over them, and mingling its sub- 
dued cheerfulness with the solemnity of a grove of ancient 
trees, beneath and amid the boughs of which the golden 
rays were constrained to pass. In another direction was 
seen the Great Stone Face, with the same cheer, combined 
740 with the same solemnity, in its benignant aspect. 

Ernest began to speak, giving to the people of what was 
in his heart and mind. His words had power, because they 
accorded with his thoughts; and his thoughts had reality 
and depth, because they harmonized with the life which he 
had always lived. It was not mere breath that this preacher 
uttered ; they were the words of life, because a life of good 
deeds and holy love was melted into them. Pearls, pure 
and rich, had been dissolved into this precious draught. 
The poet, as he listened, felt that the being and character 
750 of Ernest were a nobler strain of poetry than he had ever 
written. His eyes glistened with tears, he gazed reveren- 
tially at the venerable man, and said within himself that 
never was there an aspect so worthy of a prophet and a 
sage as that mild, sweet, thoughtful countenance, with the 
glory of white hair diffused about it. At a distance, but 
distinctly to be seen, high up in the golden light of the set- 
ting sun, appeared the Great Stone Face, with hoary mists 
around it, like the white hairs around the brow of Ernest. 
Its look of grand beneficence seemed to embrace the world. 
760 At that moment, in sympathy with a thought which he 


THE GREAT STONE FACE 


29 


was about to utter, the face of Ernest assumed a grandeur 
of expression, so imbued with benevolence, that the poet, 
by an irresistible impulse, threw his arms aloft, and 
shouted : 

Behold! Behold! Ernest is himself the likeness of 
the Great Stone Face ! ” 

Then all the people looked, and saw that what the deep- 
sighted poet said was true. The prophecy was fulfilled. But 
Ernest, having finished what he had to say, took the poet’s 
arm, and walked slowly homeward, still hoping that some 770 
wiser and better man than himself would by-and-by appear, 
bearing a resemblance to the Great Stone Face. 


30 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


ISTOTES. 


Line 7. — Embossed. Set in relief by the mountains. 

22. Phenomenon. Extraordinary, or very remarkable thing. 

30. Titan. One of the giants of old Greek mythology. The 
Titans were the children of Uranus (the heavens), and Gaea (the 
earth). They overthrew their father and made their brother, 
Kronos, the king. His son Zeus rose against his father Kronos, 
and in a ten-years war with the Titans overcame them and hurled 
them into the brazen-walled dungeon below Tartsjirus. 

37. Chaotic. Confused; resembling chaos. 

41. Original divinity intact. The “original divinity” of the human 
face is the divinity or essence of God that from the beginning marks 
the human countenance as superior to that of all other living crea- 
tures. Intact — unchanged. 

52. Benign. Gracious, kind. Its root meanings are found in 
bonus, good, and the root of genus, kind. Literally, of good kind or 
quality. 

59. / wish . . . 'pleasant. Does a pleasant voice belong to a 
kindly look? 

62. Prophecy. A foretelling. 

70. Even the Indians, etc. All the literature of the Indians was 
held in their legends which the old men told to the children. The 
great teacher of the Indian was Nature, and the subjects for his 
stories were mainly found in the natural surroundings of his life. 

74. The purport, etc. Do people believe such stories to-day? 

81. But others, etc. Why should those doubt because they had 
“seen more of the world”? 

90. Generous. Stimulating; exalting. 

98. More with his loving heart. How could he help more with his 
heart than with his hands? 

99. Pensive. Thoughtful. 

114. Peculiar. Individual; particular. 

125. Inscrutable. Impossible to explain. 


THE GREAT STONE FACE 31 

127. Bulky-bottomed. Carrying a large cargo in the bulk. 

136. Effulgence. Of great lustre. 

140. Commodity. Article of commerce. 

142. Midas. An ancient Phrygian king to whom was granted 
his wish that whatever he touched might be turned to gold. The 
result brought such inconvenience that he was glad to wash in the 
river Pactolus, whose sands afterward were filled with gold. 

164. Transmutation. Changing power. 

171. A finer medium, etc. Clearer than the air. 

175. Whatever was iron or brass, etc. What use is made of iron 
and brass in ordinary houses? 

185. Harbingers. Forerunners. 

190. Made manifest. To be seen. 

208. Physiognomy . Face; countenance. 

232. Sordid. Gross; base. 

261. Human counterpart. Likeness, or copy. 

297. Aid-de-camp. An officer who carries orders for a general. 
(Pronounced ade-de-kan.) 

311. Sylvan. Rustic; rural. 

317. Vista. View; especially a view or prospect through an 
avenue of trees, or the like. 

320. Laurel. Why was laurel intermixed? 

346. Electricity. Inspiration (use(i figuratively). 

386-390. The mists . . . purple. A fine piece of description. 

430. Truculent. Ruthless; destructive. 

444-446. When it . *. . with it. A figurative way of expressing 
the influence he could exert with his mere eloquence of speech. 

453. Potentates. Powerful rulers. 

' 464-467. A piece of irony. Saying the exact opposite to the mean- 
ing intended. 

469. Cavalcade. A formal parade of horsemen. 

529. Etherialized. Rendered spirit-like. 

551. Vociferous. Noisy. 

624. Refuse stuff. Waste; worthless matter. 

677. Pavilion. Central feature of a building. Here used to sug- 
gest the finest part of the mind. 

726. Tapestry. A fabric with a linen warp on which designs, 
usually pictorial, are w'orked in worsted by hand. Here used figura- 
tively. 

In this story the author seeks to show that the highest, noblest 
life cannot be bought with gold, nor won with victories on battle- 


32 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


fields, nor gained by eloquence in legislative halls, nor achieved 
through the poetic power of the pen. Mr. Gathergold, Old Blood- 
and-Thunder, Mr. Stony Phiz, and the Poet each lacked the spirit 
of self-sacrifice, and reflection and love, without which no man can 
be truly great. 

The real Great Stone Face is a remarkable feature of the White 
Mountains. An arrangement of rock and chasm is said at a distance 
to resemble the outline of a great human face. 

This story is of the kind whose quiet influence remains long after 
the story itself is forgotten. 


< I 



THE SHOW-IMAGE. 


A CHILDISH MIRACLE. 

One afternoon of a cold winter’s day, when the sun shone 
forth with chilly brightness, after a long storm, two children 
asked leave of their mother to run out and play in the new- 
fallen snow. The elder child was a little girl, whom, because 
she was of a tender and modest disposition, and was thought 
to be very beautiful, her parents, and other people who were 
familiar with her, used to call Violet. But her brother was 
known by the style and title of Peony, on account of the 
ruddiness of his broad and round little phiz, which made 
everybody think of sunshine and great scarlet flowers. The lo 
father of these two children, a certain Mr. Lindsey, it is im- 
portant to say, was an excellent but exceedingly matter-of- 
fact sort of man, a dealer in hardware, and was sturdily 
accustomed to take what is called the common-sense view of 
all matters that came under his consideration. With a 
heart about as tender as other people’s, he had a head as 
hard and impenetrable, and therefore, perhaps, as empty, as 
one of the iron pots which it was a part of his business to 
sell. The mother’s character, on the other hand, had a 
strain of poetry in it, a trait of unworldly beauty, — a 20 
delicate and dewy flower, as it were, that had survived 
out of her imaginative youth, and still kept itself alive 
amid the lusty realities of matrimony and motherhood. 

So Violet and Peony, as I began with saying, besought 
their mother to let them run out and play in the new snow ; 
for, though it had looked so dreary and dismal, drifting 

( 33 ) 


—3 


34 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


downward out of the gray sky, it had a very cheerful aspect, 
now that the sun was shining on it. The children dwelt in 
a city, and had no wider play-place than a little garden be- 
fore the house, divided by a white fence from the street, and 
with a pear-tree and two or three plum-trees overshadowing 
it, and some rose-bushes just in front of the parlor windows. 
The trees and shrubs, however, were now leafless, and their 
twigs were enveloped in the light snow, which thus made a 
kind of wintry foliage, with here and there a pendent icicle 
for the fruit. 

^‘Yes, Violet, — yes, my little Peony,” said their kind 
mother ; ^ ' you may go out and play in the new snow.” 

Accordingly, the good lady bundled up her darlings in 
woolen jackets and wadded sacks, and put comforters round 
their necks, and a pair of striped gaiters on each little pair of 
legs, and worsted mittens on their hands, and gave them a 
kiss apiece, by way of a spell to keep away Jack Frost. 
Forth sallied the two children, with a hop-skip-and-jump, 
that carried them at once into the very heart of a huge 
snow-drift, wFence Violet emerged like a snow-bunting, 
while little Peony floundered out with his round face in 
full bloom. Then what a merry time had they ! To look at 
them frolicking in the wintry garden, you would have 
60 thought that the dark and pitiless storm had been sent for 
no other purpose but to provide a new plaything for Violet 
and Peony; and that they themselves had been created, 
as the snow-birds were, to take delight only in the tempest, 
and in the white mantle which it spread over the earth. 

At last, when they had frosted one another all over 
with handfuls of snow, Violet, after laughing heartily at 
little Peony’s figure, was struck with a new idea. 

^‘You look exactly like a snow-image. Peony,” said she. 


THE SNOW-IMAGE 


35 


if your cheeks were not so red. And that puts me in mind. 
Let us make an image out of snow, — an image of a little girl, 

— and it shall be our sister, and shall run about and play 
with us all winter long. Won’t it be nice ? ” 

^‘0, yes! ” cried Peony, as plainly as he could speak, for 
he was but a little boy. ^ ‘ That will be nice ! And mamma 
shall see it!” 

^‘Yes,” answered Violet, mamma shall see the new 
little girl. But she must not make her come into the 
warm parlor; for, you know, our little snow-sister will 
not love the warmth.” 

And forthwith the children began this great business of 
making a snow-image that should run about; while their 
mother, who was sitting at the window, and overheard some 
of their talk, could not help smiling at the gravity with 
which they set about it. They really seemed to imagine 
that there would be no difficulty whatever in creating a 
live little girl out of the snow. And, to say the truth, if 
miracles are ever to be wrought, it will be by putting 
our hands to the work in precisely such a simple and 
undoubting frame of mind as that in which Violet and 
Peony now undertook to perform one, without so much so 
as knowing that it was a miracle. So thought the 
mother; and thought, likewise, that the new snow, just 
fallen from heaven, would be excellent material to make 
new beings of, if it were not so very cold. She gazed 
at the children a moment longer, delighting to watch their 
little figures,— the girl, tall for her age, graceful and 
agile, and so delicately colored that she looked like a cheer- 
ful thought, more than a physical reality,— while Peony 
expanded in breadth rather than height, and rolled along 
on his short and sturdy legs, as substantial as an elephant’s, 90 


36 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


though not quite so big. Then the mother resumed her 
work. What it was I forget; but she was either trimming 
a silken bonnet for Violet, or darning a pair of stockings for 
little Peony’s short legs. Again, however, and again, and 
yet other agains, she could not help turning her head to the 
window, to see how the children got on with their snow- 
image. 

Indeed, it was an exceedingly pleasant sight, those bright 
little souls at their tasks ! Moreover, it was really wonder- 
ful to observe how knowingly and skillfully they managed 
the matter. Violet assumed the chief direction, and told 
Peony what to do, while, with her own delicate fingers, she 
shaped out all the nicer parts of the snow-figure. It seemed 
in fact, not so much to be made by the children, as to grow 
up under their hands, while they were playing and prattling 
about it. Their mother was quite surprised at this; and 
the longer she looked, the more and more surprised she 
grew. 

^‘What remarkable children mine are!” thought she, 
no smiling with a mother’s pride ; and smiling at herself, too, 
for being so proud of them. ^‘What other children could 
have made anything so like a little girl’s figure out of snow, 
at the first trial? Well; — but now I must finish Peony’s 
new frock, for his grandfather is coming to-morrow, and 
I want the little fellow to look handsome.” 

So she took up the frock, and was soon as busily at work 
again with her needle as the two children with their snow- 
image. But still, as the needle traveled hither and thither 
through the seams of the dress, the mother made her toil 
120 light and happy by listening to the airy voices of Violet and 
Peony. They kept talking to one another all the time, 
their tongues being quite as active as their feet and hands. 


THE SNOW-IMAGE 


37 


Except at intervals, she could not distinctly hear what was 
said, but had merely a sweet impression that they were in a 
most loving mood, and were enjoying themselves highly, 
and that the business of making the snow-image went pros- 
perously on. Now and then, however, when Violet and 
Peony happened to raise their voices, the words were as 
audible as if they had been spoken in the very parlor where 
the mother sat. 0, how delightfully those words echoed in i3( 
her heart, even though they meant nothing so very wise or 
wonderful, after all ! 

But you must know a mother listens with her heart, much 
more than with her ears; and thus she is often delighted 
with the trills of celestial music, when other people can hear 
nothing of the kind. 

Peony, Peony!’’ cried Violet to her brother, who had 
gone to another part of the garden, ^ ‘ bring me some of that 
fresh snow, Peony, from the very furthest corner, where we 
have not been trampling. I want it to shape our little i4c 
snow-sister’s bosom with. You know that part must be 
quite pure, just as it came out of the sky ! ” 

Here it is, Violet 1 ” answered Peony, in his bluff tone, — 
but a very sweet tone, too, — as he came floundering through 
the half-trodden drifts. ^^Here is the snow for her little 
bosom. 0, Violet, how beau-ti-ful she begins to look ! ” 

^^Yes,” said Violet, thoughtfully and quietly; ^‘our 
snow-sister does look very lovely. I did not quite know. 
Peony, that we could make such a sweet little girl as this.” 

The mother, as she listened, thought how fit and delight- i5o 
ful an incident it would be, if fairies, or, still better, if angel- 
children were to come from Paradise, and play invisibly 
with her own darlings, and help them to make their snow- 
image, giving it the features of celestial babyhood ! Violet 


38 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


and Peony would not be aware of their immortal playmates, 
— only they would see that the image grew very beautiful 
while they worked at it, and would think that they them- 
selves had done it all. 

^ ‘ My little girl and boy deserve such playmates, if mortal 
children ever did!” said the mother to herself; and then 
she smiled again at her own motherly pride. 

Nevertheless, the idea seized upon her imagination; and, 
ever and anon, she took a glimpse out of the window, 
half dreaming that she might see the golden-haired children 
of Paradise sporting with her own golden-haired Violet and 
bright-cheeked Peony. 

Now, for a few moments, there was a busy and earnest, but 
indistinct hum of the two children’s voices, as Violet and 
Peony wrought together with one happy consent. Violet 
170 still seemed to be the guiding spirit, while Peony acted 
rather as a laborer, and brought her the snow from far and 
near. And yet the little urchin evidently had a proper un- 
derstanding of the matter, too ! 

‘ ‘ Peony, Peony ! ” cried Violet ; for her brother was again 
at the other side of the garden. Bring me those light 
wreaths of snow that have rested on the lower branches of 
the pear-tree. You can clamber on the snow-drift. Peony, 
and reach them easily. I must have them to make some 
ringlets for our snow-sister’s head ! ” 

180 ^ ‘ Here they are, Violet ! ” answered the little boy. ^ ‘ Take 

care you do not break them. Well done ! Well done ! How 
pretty!” 

^‘Does she not look sweetly?” said Violet, with a very 
satisfied tone ; ^ ‘ and now we must have some little shining 
bits of ice, to make the brightness of her eyes. She is not 
finished yet. Mamma will see how very beautiful she is; 


THE SNOW-IMAGE 


39 


but papa will say, Tush! nonsense! — come in out of the 
cold!’” 

^Tet us call mamma to look out,” said Peony; and then 
he shouted lustily, ^ ‘ Mamma ! mamma ! ! mamma ! ! ! Look i9o 
out, and see what a nice ’ittle girl we are making! ” 

The mother put down her work, for an instant, and looked 
out of the window. But it so happened that the sun — for 
it was one of the shortest days of the whole year — had 
sunken so nearly to the edge of the world, that his setting 
shine came obliquely into the lady’s eyes. So she was daz- 
zled, you must understand, and could not very distinctly 
observe what was in the garden. Still, however, through all 
that bright, blinding dazzle of the sun and the new snow, 
she beheld a small white figure in the garden, that seemed 
to have a wonderful deal of human likeness about it. And 
she saw Violet and Peony, — indeed, she looked more at 
them than at the image, — she saw the two children still at 
work ; Peony bringing fresh snow, and Violet applying it to 
the figure as scientifically as a sculptor adds clay to his 
model. Indistinctly as she discerned the snow-child, the 
mother thought to herself that never before was there a 
snow-figure so cunningly made, nor ever such a dear little 
boy and girl to make it. 

^They do everything better than other children,” said^^® 
she, very complacently. ^‘No wonder they make better 
snow-images ! ” 

She sat down again to her work, and made as much haste 
with it as possible ; because twilight would soon come, and 
Peony’s frock was not yet finished, and grandfather was 
expected, by railroad, pretty early in the morning. Faster 
and faster, therefore, went her flying fingers. The children, 
likewise, kept busily at work in the garden, and still the 


40 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


mother listened, whenever she could catch a word. She 
220 was amused to observe how their little imaginations had 
got mixed up with what they were doing, and were carried 
away by it. They seemed positively to think that the snow- 
child would run about and play with them. 

^‘What a nice playmate she will be for us, all winter 
long ! ” said Violet. ^ ‘ I hope papa will not be afraid of her 
giving us a cold ! Shan’t you love her dearly. Peony ? ” 

^^0, yes! ” cried Peony. ^^And I will hug her, and she 
shall sit down close by me, and drink some of my warm 
milk!” 

^^0, no. Peony!” answered Violet, with grave wisdom. 
^ ‘ That will not do at all. Warm milk will not be wholesome 
for our r.ttle snow-sister. Little snow-people like her eat 
nothing but icicles. No, no. Peony; we must not give her 
anything warm to drink ! ” 

There was a minute or two of silence ; for Peony, whose 
short legs were never weary, had gone on a pilgrimage again 
to the other side of the garden. All of a sudden, Violet 
cried out, loudly and joyfully : 

^ ‘ Look here. Peony ! Come quickly ! A light has been 
240 shining on her cheek out of that rose-colored cloud ! and the 
color does not go away ! Is not that beautiful ? ” 

^‘Yes; it is beau-ti-ful,” answered Peony, pronouncing 
the three syllables with deliberate accuracy. ^‘0, Violet, 
only look at her hair ! It is all like gold ! ” 

^^0, certainly,” said Violet, with tranquillity, as if it were 
very much a matter of course. ^^That color, you know, 
comes from the golden clouds, that we see up there in the 
sky. She is almost finished now. But her lips must be 
made very red, — redder than her cheeks. Perhaps, Peony, 
25) it will make them red, if we both kiss them ! ” 


THE SNOW-IMAGE 


41 


Accordingly, the mother heard two smart little smacks, as 
if both her children were kissing the snow-image on its 
frozen mouth. But, as this did not seem to make the lips 
quite red enough, Violet next proposed that the snow-child 
should be invited to kiss Peony’s scarlet cheek. 

^ ‘ Come, ’ittle snow-sister, kiss me ! ” cried Peony. 

There! she has kissed you,” added Violet, ^^and now 
her lips are very red. And she blushed a little, too ! ” 

^ ‘ 0 , what a cold kiss ! ” cried Peony. 

Just then there came a breeze of the pure west wind, 
sweeping through the garden and rattling the parlor win- 
dows. It sounded so wintry cold, that the mother was 
about to tap on the window-pane with her thimbled finger, 
to summon the two children in, when they both cried out 
to her with one voice. The tone was not a tone of surprise, 
although they were evidently a good deal excited ; it ap- 
peared rather as if they were very much rejoiced at some 
event that had now happened, but which they had been 
looking for, and had reckoned upon all along. 

^‘Mammal mamma! We have finished our little snow- 270 
sister, and she is running about the garden with us ! ” 

^‘What imaginative little beings my children are!” 
thought the mother, putting the last few stitches into 
Peony’s frock. ^ ^ And it is strange, too, that they make me 
almost as much a child as they themselves are! I can 
hardly help believing, now, that the snow-image has really 
come to life ! ” 

^‘Dear mamma! ” cried Violet, ^^pray look out and see 
what a sweet playmate we have ! ” 

The mother, being thus entreated, could no longer delay 280 
to look forth from the window. The sun was now gone out 
of the sky, leaving, however, a rich inheritance of his bright- 


42 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


ness among those purple and golden clouds which make the 
sunsets of winter so magnificent. But there was not the 
slightest gleam or dazzle, either on the window or on the 
snow ; so that the good lady could look all over the garden, 
and see everything and everybody in it. And what do you 
think she saw there? Violet and Peony, of course, her own 
two darling children. Ah, but whom or what did she see be- 
290 sides? Why, if you will believe me, there was a small figure 
of a girl, dressed all in white, with rose-tinged cheeks and 
ringlets of golden hue, playing about the garden with the 
two children ! A stranger though she was, the child seemed 
to be on as familiar terms with Violet and Peony, and they 
with her, as if all the three had been playmates during the 
whole of their little lives. The mother thought to herself 
that it must certainly be the daughter of one of the neigh- 
bors, and that, seeing Violet and Peony in the garden, the 
child had run across the street to play with them. So this 
kind lady went to the door, intending to invite the little 
runaway into her comfortable parlor; for, now that the sun- 
shine was withdrawn, the atmosphere, out of doors, was 
already growing very cold. 

But, after opening the house-door, she stood an instant on 
the threshold, hesitating whether she ought to ask the child 
to come in, or whether she should even speak to her. In- 
deed, she almost doubted whether it were a real child, after 
all, or only a light wreath of the new-fallen snow, blown 
hither and thither about the garden by the intensely cold 
310 west wind. There was certainly something very singular 
in the aspect of the little stranger. Among all the children 
of the neighborhood, the lady could remember no such face, 
with its pure white, and delicate rose-color, and the golden 
ringlets tossing about the forehead and cheeks. And as for 


THE SNOW-IMAGE 


43 


her dress, which was entirely of white, and fluttering in the 
breeze, it was such as no reasonable woman would put upon 
a little girl, when sending her out to play, in the depth of 
winter. It made this kind and careful mother shiver only 
to look at those small feet, with nothing in the world on 
them, except a very thin pair of white slippers. Neverthe- 320 
less, airily as she was clad, the child seemed to feel not the 
slightest inconvenience from the cold, but danced so lightly 
over the snow that the tips of her toes left hardly a print in 
its surface; while Violet could but just keep pace with her, 
and Peony’s short legs compelled him to lag behind. 

Once, in the course of their play, the strange child placed 
herself between Violet and Peony, and taking a hand of 
each, skipped merrily forward, and they along with her. 
Almost immediately, however. Peony pulled away his little 
fist, and began to rub it as if the fingers were tingling 33o 
with cold; while Violet also released herself, though with 
less abruptness, gravely remarking that it was better not to 
take hold of hands. The white-robed damsel said not a 
word, but danced about, just as merrily as before. If Violet 
and Peony did not choose to play with her, she could make 
just as good a playmate of the brisk and cold west wind, 
which kept blowing her all about the garden, and took such 
liberties with her, that they seemed to have been friends for 
a long time. All this while the mother stood on the thresh- 
old, wondering how a little girl could look so much like a 340 
flying snow-drift, or how a snow-drift could look so very 
like a little girl. 

She called Violet, and whispered to her. 

^‘Violet, my darling, what is this child’s name?” asked 
she. ^ ^ Does she live near us ? ” 

^‘Why, dearest mamma,” answered Violet, laughing to 


44 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


think that her mother did not comprehend so very plain an 
affair, ^‘this is our little snow-sister, whom we have just 
been making ! 

360 ^ ‘ Yes, dear mamma,” cried Peony, running to his mother 

and looking up simply into her face. ^ ' This is our snow- 
image ! Is it not a nice httle child? ” 

At this instant a flock of snow-birds came flitting through 
the air. As was very natural, they avoided Violet and 
Peony. But, — and this looked strange, — they flew at once 
to the white-robed child, fluttered eagerly about her head, 
alighted on her shoulders, and seemed to claim her as an old 
acquaintance. She, on her part, was evidently as glad to 
see these little birds, old Winter’s grandchildren, as they 
360 were to see her, and welcomed them by holding out both 
her hands. Hereupon, they each and all tried to alight on 
her two palms and ten small fingers and thumbs, crowding 
one another off, with an immense fluttering of their tiny 
wings. One dear little bird nestled tenderly in her bosom ; 
another put its bill to her lips. They were as joyous, all 
the while, and seemed as much in their element, as you may 
have seen them when sporting with a snow-storm. 

Violet and Peony stood laughing at this pretty sight ; for 
they enjoyed the merry time which their new playmate was 
having with these small-winged visitants, almost as much 
as if they themselves took part in it. 

‘Wiolet,” said her mother, greatly perplexed, ^‘tell me 
the truth, without any jest. Who is this little girl? ” 

^‘My darling mamma,” answered Violet, looking seri- 
ously into her mother’s face, and apparently surprised 
she could need any further explanation, ^ ‘ I have told you 
truly who she is. It is our little snow-image, which Peony 


THE SNOW-IMAGE 


45 


and I have been making. Peony will tell you so, as well 
asL” 

^‘Yes, mamma/’ asseverated Peony, with much gravity 
in his crimson little phiz ; ' ' this is our ’ittle snow-child. Is 
she not a nice one? But, mamma, her hand is, oh, so very 
cold!” 

While mamma still hesitated what to think and what to 
do, the street-gate was thrown open, and the father of Violet 
and Peony appeared, wrapped in a pilot-cloth sack, with a 
fur cap drawn down over his ears, and the thickest of 
gloves upon his hands. Mr. Lindsey was a middle-aged 
man, with a weary and yet a happy look in his wind- 
flushed and frost-pinched face, as if he had been busy all 
the day long, and was glad to get back to his quiet home. 
His eyes brightened at the sight of his wife and children, 
although he could not help uttering a word or two of sur- 
prise, at finding the whole family in the open air, on so bleak 
a day, and after sunset, too. He soon perceived the little 
white stranger, sporting to and fro in the garden, like a 
dancing snow-wreath, and the flock of snow-birds fluttering 
about her head. 

^‘Pray, what little girl may that be? ” inquired this very 
sensible man. ^ ^ Surely her mother must be crazy to let her 400 
go out in such bitter weather as it has been to-day, with only 
that flimsy white gown, and those thin slippers I ” 

^‘My dear husband,” said his wife, know no more • 
about the little thing than you do. Some neighbor’s child, 

I suppose. Our Violet and Peony,” she added, laughing at 
herself for repeating so absurd -a story, ^‘insist that she is 
nothing but a snow-image, which they have been busy 
about in the garden, almost all the afternoon.” 

As she said this, the mother glanced her eyes toward the 


46 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


410 spot where the children’s snow-image had been made. 
Wlaat was her surprise on perceiving that there was not the 
slightest trace of so much labor! — no image at all! — no 
piled-up heap of snow! — nothing whatever, save the prints 
of little footsteps around a vacant space ! 

^ ‘ This is very strange ! ” said she. 

'‘What is strange, dear mother? ” asked Violet. "Dear 
father, do you not see how it is? This is our snow-image, 
which Peony and I have made, because we wanted another 
playmate. Did not we. Peony ? ” 

420 ^‘Yes, papa,” said crimson Peony. "This be our ’ittle 
snow-sister. Is she not beau-ti-ful? But she gave me 
such a cold kiss! ” 

"Poh, nonsense, children!” cried their good, honest 
father, who, as we have already intimated, had an exceed- 
ingly common-sensible way of looking at matters. "Do 
not tell me of making live figures out of snow. Come, wife; 
this little stranger must not stay out in the bleak air a 
moment longer. We will bring her into the parlor; and you 
shall give her a supper of warm bread and milk, and make 
her as comfortable as you can. Meanwhile, I will inquire 
among the neighbors; or, if necessary, send the city crier 
about the streets, to give notice of a lost child.” 

So saying, this honest and very kind-hearted man was 
going toward the little white damsel, with the best inten- 
tions in the world. But Violet and Peony, each seizing 
their father by the hand, earnestly besought him not to 
make her come in. 

" Dear father,” cried Violet, putting herself before him, 
" it is true what I have been telling you ! This is our little 
440 snow-girl, and she cannot live any longer than while she 


THE SNOW-IMAGE 


47 


breathes the cold west wind. Do not make her come into 
the hot room! ’’ 

^^Yes, father,” shouted Peony, stamping his little foot, 
so mightily was he in earnest, ‘ ‘ this be nothing but our httle 
snow-child ! She will not love the hot fire ! ” 

^‘Nonsense, children, nonsense, nonsense!” cried the 
father, half vexed, half laughing, at what he considered 
their foolish obstinacy; ^Yun into the house this moment! 

It is too late to play any longer, now. I must take care of 
this little girl immediately, or she will catch her death-a- 450 
cold!” 

‘ ‘ Husband ! dear husband ! ” said his wife, in a low voice, 

— for she had been looking narrowly at the snow-child, and 
was more perplexed than ever , — ‘ ‘ there is something very 
singular in all this. You will think me foolish, — but — but 
— may it not be that some invisible angel has been attracted 
by the simplicity and good faith with which our children 
set about their undertaking? May he have not spent an 
hour of his immortality in playing with those dear little 
souls? and so the result is what we would call a miracle. 46 o 
No, no ! Do not laugh at me ; I see what a foolish thought 
it is! ” 

^‘My dear wife,” replied the husband, laughing heartily, 

^ ‘ you are as much a child as Violet and Peony.” 

And in one sense so she was, for all through life she had 
kept her heart full of childlike simplicity and faith, which 
was as pure and clear as crystal ; and, looking at all matters 
through this transparent medium, she sometimes saw truths 
so profound, that other people laughed at them as nonsense 
and absurdity. 470 

But now kind Mr. Lindsey had entered the garden, break- 
ing away from his two children, who still sent their shrill 


48 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


voices after him, beseeching him to let the snow-child stay 
and enjoy herself in the cold west wind. As he approached, 
the snow-birds took to flight. The little white damsel, also, 
fled backward, shaking her head, as if to say, ^ ‘ Pray, do not 
touch me and roguishly, as it appeared, leading him 
through the deepest of the snow. Once the good man 
stumbled, and floundered down upon his face, so that, gath- 
480 ering himself up again, with the snow sticking to his rough 
pilot-cloth sack, he looked as white and wintry as a snow- 
image of the largest size. Some of the neighbors, mean- 
while, seeing him from their windows, wondered what could 
possess poor Mr. Lindsey to be running about his garden in 
pursuit of a snow-drift, which the west wind was driving 
hither and thither! At length, after a vast deal of trouble, 
he chased the httle stranger into a corner, where she could 
not possibly escape him. His wife had been looking on, 
and, it b^ing nearly twilight, was wonderstruck to observe 
490 how the snow-child gleamed and sparkled, and how she 
seemed to shed a glow all round about her ; and when 
driven into the corner, she positively glistened like a star ! 
It was a frosty kind of brightness, too, like that of an 
icicle in the moonlight. The wife thought it strange that 
good Mr. Lindsey should see nothing remarkable in the 
snow-child’s appearance. 

'Tome, you odd little thing!” cried the honest man, 
seizing her by the hand, "I have caught you at last, and 
will make you comfortable in spite of yourself. We will put 
600 a nice warm pair of worsted stockings on your frozen little 
feet, and you shall have a good thick shawl to wrap yourself 
in. Your poor white nose, I am afraid, is actually frost- 
bitten. But we will make it all right. Come along in. ” 

And so, with a most benevolent smile on his sagacious 


THE SNOW-IMAGE 


49 


visage, all purple as it was with the cold, this very well- 
meaning gentleman took the snow-child by the hand and 
led her towards the house. She followed him, drooping and 
reluctant ; for all the glow and sparkle was gone out of her 
figure; and whereas just before she had resembled a bright, 
frosty, star-gemmed evening, with a crimson gleam on the sio 
cold horizon, she now looked as dull and languid as a thaw. 

As kind Mr. Lindsey led her up the steps of the door, Violet 
and Peony looked into his face, — their eyes full of tears, 
which froze before they could run down their cheeks, — 
and again entreated him not to bring their snow-image 
into the house. 

^‘Not bring her in!” exclaimed the kind-hearted man. 
^‘Why, you are crazy, my little Violet! — quite crazy, my 
small Peony! She is so cold already, that her hand has 
almost frozen mine, in spite of my thick gloves. Would you 620 
have her freeze to death? ” 

His wife, as he came up the steps, had been taking an- 
other long, earnest, almost awe-stricken gaze at the little 
white stranger. She hardly knew whether it was a dream 
or no; but she could not help fancying that she saw the 
delicate print of Violet^s fingers on the child’s neck. It 
looked just as if, while Violet was shaping out the image, 
she had given it a gentle pat with her hand, and had neg- 
lected to smooth the impression quite away. 

After all, husband,” said the mother, recurring to her 530 
idea that the angels would be as much delighted to play with 
Violet and Peony as she herself was, after all, she does 
look strangely like a snow-image ! I do believe she is made 
of snow! ” 

A puff of the west wind blew against the snow-child, and 

again she sparkled like a star. 

—4 


50 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


^‘Snow! ” repeated good Mr. Lindsey^ drawing the reluc- 
tant guest over his hospitable threshold. No wonder she 
looks like snow. She is half frozen, poor little thing ! But 
640 a good fire will put everything to rights.” 

Without further talk, and always with the same best in- 
tentions, this highly benevolent and common-sensible indi- 
vidual led the little white damsel — drooping, drooping, 
drooping, more and more — out of the frosty air, and into 
his comfortable parlor. A Heidenberg stove, filled to the 
brim with intensely burning anthracite, was sending a bright 
gleam through the isinglass of its iron door, and causing the 
vase of water on its top to fume and bubble with excitement. 
A warm, sultry smell was diffused throughout the room. A 
5^0 thermometer on the wall furthest from the stove stood at 
eighty degrees. The parlor was hung with red curtains 
and covered with a red carpet, and looked just as warm 
as it felt. The difference betwixt the atmosphere here and the 
cold, wintry twilight out of doors, was like stepping at once 
from Nova Zembla to the hottest part of India, or from 
the North Pole into an oven. 0 , this was a fine place for 
the little white stranger ! 

The common-sensible man placed the snow-child on the 
hearth-rug, right in front of the hissing and fuming stove. 

66a ^‘Now she will be comfortable! ” cried Mr. Lindsey, rub- 
bing his hands and looking about him, with the pleasantest 
smile you ever saw. ^‘Make yourself at home, my child.” 

Sad, sad, and drooping, looked the little white maiden, as 
she stood on the hearth-rug, with the hot blast of the stove 
striking through her like a pestilence. Once, she threw a 
glance wistfully toward the windows, and caught a glimpse 
through its red curtains, of the snow-covered roofs and the 
stars glimmering frostily, and all the delicious intensity of 


THE SNOW-IMAGE 


51 


the cold night. The bleak wind rattled the window-panes 
as if it were summoning her to come forth. But there stood 
the snow-child, drooping before the hot stove ! 

But the common-sensible man saw nothing amiss. 

^^Come, wife,” said he, ^^let her have a pair of thick 
stockings, and a woolen shawl or blanket directly ; and tell 
Dora to give her some warm supper as soon as the milk 
boils. You, Violet, and Peony, amuse your little friend. 
She is out of spirits, you see, at finding. herself in a strange 
place. For my part, I will go around among the neighbors, 
and find out where she belongs.” 

The mother, meanwhile, had gone in search of the shawl 
and stockings; for her own view of the matter, however 
subtle and delicate, had given way, as it always did, to the 
stubborn materialism of her husband. Without heeding 
the remonstrances of his two children, who still kept mur- 
muring that their little snow-sister did not love the warmth, 
good Mr. Lindsey took his departure, shutting the parlor 
door carefully behind him. Turning up the collar of his 
sack over his ears, he emerged from the house, and had 
barely reached the street-gate, when he was recalled by the 
screams of Violet and Peony, and the rapping of a thimbled 
finger against the parlor window. 

^‘Husband! husband! ” cried his wife, showing her hor- 
ror-stricken face through the window-panes. ^ ^ There is no 
need of going for the child^s parents ! ” 

We told you so, father! ” screamed Violet and Peony, 
as he re-entered the parlor. ^ ‘ You would bring her in ; arid 
now our poor, dear, beau-ti-ful little snow-sister is thawed!” 

And their own sweet little faces were already dissolved in 
tears; so that their father, seeing what strange things occa- 
sionally happen in this ever5^-day world, felt not a little 


670 

680 

690 

600 


52 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


anxious lest his children might be going to thaw, too ! In 
the utmost perplexity, he demanded an explanation of his 
wife. She could only reply, that, being summoned to the 
parlor by the cries of Violet and Peony, she found no trace 
of the little white maiden, unless it were the remains of a 
heap of snow, which, while she was gazing at it, melted 
quite away upon the hearth-rug. 

‘‘And there you see all that is left of it!’’ added she, 
pointing to a pool of water, in front of the stove. 

610 ^‘Yes, father,” said Violet, looking reproachfully at him, 
through her tears, ‘ ‘ there is all that is left of our dear little 
snow-sister! ” 

“Naughty father! ” cried Peony, stamping his foot, and 
— I shudder to say — shaking his little fist at the common- 
sensible man. “We told you how it would be ! What for 
did you bring her in? ” 

And the Heidenberg stove, through the isinglass of its 
door, seemed to glare at good Mr. Lindsey like a red-eyed 
demon, triumphing in the mischief which it had done ! 

6^0 This, you will observe, was one of those rare cases, which 
yet will occasionally happen, where common-sense finds 
itself at fault. The remarkable story of the snow-image, 
though to that sagacious class of people to whom good Mr. 
Lindsey belongs it may seem but a childish affair, is, never- 
theless, capable of being moralized in various methods, 
greatly for their edification. One of its lessons, for in- 
stance, might be, that it behooves men, and especially men 
of benevolence, to consider well what they are about, and, 

630 before acting on their philanthropic purposes, to be quite 
sure that they comprehend the nature and all the re- 
lations of the business in hand. What has been estab- 


THE SNOW-IMAGE 


53 


lished as an element of good to one being may prove abso- 
lute mischief to another; even as the warmth of the 
parlor was proper enough for children of flesh and blood, 
like Violet and Peony, — though by no means very whole- 
some, even for them, — but involved nothing short of 
annihilation to the unfortunate snow-image. 

But, after all, there is no teaching anything to wise men 
of good Mr. Lindsey’s stamp. They know everything — oh, 64 o 
to be sure ! — everything that has been, and everything that 
is, and everything that, by any future possibility, can be. 
And, should some phenomenon of nature or Providence 
transcend their system, they will not recognize it, even if 
it come to pass under their very noses. 

^^Wife,” said Mr. Lindsey, after a fit of silence, ^‘see 
what a quantity of snow the children have brought in on 
their feet ! It has made quite a puddle here before the 
stove. Pray tell Dora to bring some towels and sop it up ! ” 


54 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


NOTES. 


431. City crier. The business of this man was to patrol the street 
and cry out the hours; also, to announce any loss or disaster or 
other news important to the city. He served in the place of police- 
man, town clock, telephone system, fire-alarm, and “lost” and 
‘found” column in the daily papers. 

583. Materialism. Belief in material things over spiritual things. 


A BELL’S BIOGEAPHY. 


Hearken to our neighbor with the iron tongue. While 
I sit musing over my sheet of foolscap, he emphatically tells 
the hour, in tones loud enough for all the town to hear, 
though doubtless intended only as a gentle hint to myself, 
that I may begin his biography before the evening shall be 
further wasted. Unquestionably a personage in such an 
elevated position, and making so great a noise in the world, 
has a fair claim to the services of a biographer. He is the 
representative and most illustrious member of that innu- 
merable class, whose characteristic feature is the tongue, lo 
and whose sole business is to clamor for the public good. If 
any of his noisy brethren, in our tongue-governed democracy, 
be envious of the superiority which I have assigned him, 
they have my free consent to hang themselves as high as he. 
And, for his history, let not the reader apprehend an empty 
repetition of ding-dong-bell. He has been the passive hero 
of wonderful vicissitudes, with which I have chanced to be 
acquainted, possibly from his own mouth ; while the care- 
less multitude supposed him to be talking merely of the 
time of day, or calling them to dinner or to church, or 20 
bidding drowsy people to go bedward, or the dead to their 
graves. Many a revolution has it been his fate to go 
through, and invariably with a prodigious uproar. And 
whether or no he have told me his reminiscences, this at 
least is true, that the more I study his deep-toned lan- 
guage,' the more sense and sentiment, and soul, do I dis- 


cover in it. 


LofC.- 


( 56 ) 


56 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


This bell — for we may as well drop our quaint personifi- 
cation — is of antique French manufacture, and the symbol 
30 of the cross betokens that it was meant to be suspended in 
the belfry of a Romish place of worship. The old people 
hereabout have a tradition, that a considerable part of the 
metal was supplied by a brass cannon, captured in one of 
the victories of Louis the Fourteenth over the Spaniards, 
and that a Bourbon princess threw her golden crucifix into 
the molten mass. It is said, likewise, that a bishop baptized 
and blessed the bell, and prayed that a heavenly influence 
might mingle with its tones. When all due ceremonies 
had been performed, the Grand Monarque bestowed the 
40 gift — than which none could resound his beneficence more 
loudly — on the Jesuits, who were then converting the 
American Indians to the spiritual dominion of the Pope. 
So the bell, — our self-same bell, whose familiar voice we 
may hear at all hours in the streets, — this very bell sent 
forth its first-born accents from the tower of a log-built 
chapel, westward of Lake Champlain, and near the mighty 
stream of the Saint Lawrence. It was called our Lady’s 
Chapel of the Forest. The peal went forth as if to redeem 
and consecrate the heathen wilderness. The wolf growled 
50 at the sound, as he prowled stealthily through the under- 
brush; the grim bear turned his back, and stalked sullenly 
away; the startled doe leaped up, and led her fawn into a 
deeper solitude. The red man wondered what awful voice 
was speaking amid the wind that roared through the tree- 
tops; and following reverentially its summons, the dark- 
robed fathers blessed them, as they drew near the cross- 
crowned chapel. In a little time, there was a crucifix on 
every dusky bosom. The Indians knelt beneath the lowly 
roof, worshipping in the same forms that were observed 


A BELL S BIOGRAPHY 


57 


under the vast dome of Saint Peter’s, when the Pope per- 
formed high mass in the presence of kneeling princes. All 
the religious festivals, that awoke the chiming bells of lofty 
cathedrals, called forth a peal from Our Lady’s Chapel of 
the Forest. Loudly rang the bell of the wilderness while 
the streets of Paris echoed with rejoicings for the birthday 
of the Bourbon, or whenever France had triumphed on 
some European battlefield. And the solemn woods were 
saddened with a melancholy knell, as often as the thick- 
strewn leaves were swept away from the virgin soil for the 
burial of an Indian chief. 

Meantime the bells of a hostile people and a hostile faith 
were ringing on Sabbaths and lecture-days, at Boston and 
other Puritan towns. Their echoes died away hundreds of 
miles southeastward of Our Lady’s Chapel. But scouts 
had threaded the pathless desert that lay between, and, 
from behind the huge tree-trunks, perceived the Indians 
assembling at the summons of the bell. Some bore flaxen- 
haired scalps at their girdles, as if to lay those bloody tror 
phies on Our Lady’s altar. It was reported, and believed, 
all through New England, that the Pope of Rome and the 
King of France had established this little chapel in the 
forest, for the purpose of stirring up the red men to a cru- 
sade against the English settlers. The latter took energetic 
measures to secure their religion and their lives. On the 
eve of an especial fast of the Romish church, while the bell 
tolled dismally, and the priests were chanting a doleful 
stave, a band of New England rangers rushed from the sur- 
rounding woods. Fierce shouts, and the report of musketry, 
pealed suddenly within the chapel. The ministering priests 
threw themselves before the altar, and were slain even on 
its steps. If, as antique traditions tell us, no grass will 


60 

70 

80 

90 


58 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


grow where the blood of martyrs has been shed, there should 
be a barren spot, to this very day, on the site of that dese- 
crated altar. 

While the blood was still plashing from step to step, the 
leader of the rangers seized a torch, and applied it to the 
drapery of the shrine. The flame and smoke arose, as from 
a burnt-sacrifice, at once illuminating and obscuring the 
whole interior of the chapel, — now hiding the dead priests 
100 in a sable shroud, now revealing them and their slayers in 
one terrific glare. Some already wished that the altar- 
smoke could cover the deed from the sight of heaven. But 
one of the rangers — a man of sanctified aspect, though his 
hands were bloody — approached the captain. 

^ ‘Sir,” said he, our village meeting-house lacks a bell, 
and hitherto we have been fain to summon the good people 
to worship by beat of drum. Give me, I pray you, the bell 
of this popish chapel, for the sake of the godly Mr. Rogers, 
who doubtless hath remembered us in the prayers of the 
no congregation, ever since we began our march. Who can 
tell what share of this night’s good success we owe to that 
holy man’s wrestling with the Lord? ” 

“Nay, then,” answered the captain, “if good Mr. Rogers 
hath holpen our enterprise, it is right' that he should share 
the spoil. Take the bell and welcome. Deacon Lawson, if 
you will be at the trouble of carrying it home. Hitherto it 
hath spoken nothing but papistry, and that too, in the 
French or Indian gibberish; but I warrant me, if Mr. 
Rogers consecrate it anew, it will talk like a good English 
120 and Protestant bell.” 

So Deacon Lawson and half a score of his townsmen 
took down the bell, suspended it on a pole, and bore it 
away on their sturdy shoulders, meaning to carry it to 


A bell’s biography 


59 


the shore of Lake Champlain, and thence homeward by 
water. Far through the woods gleamed the flames of 
Our Lady’s Chapel, flinging fantastic shadows from the 
clustered foliage, and glancing on brooks that had never 
caught the sunlight. As the rangers traversed the mid- 
night forest, staggering under their heavy burden, the 
tongue of the bell gave many a tremendous stroke, — iso 
clang, clang, clang ! — a most doleful sound, as if it were 
tolling for the slaughter of the priests and the ruin of 
the chapel. Little dreamed Deacon Lawson and his 
townsmen that it was their own funeral knell. A war- 
party of Indians had heard the report of musketry, and 
seen the blaze of the chapel, and were now on the track 
of the rangers, summoned to vengeance by the bell’s 
dismal murmurs. In the midst of a deep swamp they 
made a sudden onslaught on the retreating foe. Good 
Deacon Lawson battled stoutly, but had his skull cloven uo 
by a tomahawk, and sank into the depths of the morass, 
with the ponderous bell above him. And, for many a year 
thereafter, our hero’s voice was heard no more on earth, 
neither at the hour of worship, nor at festivals nor funerals. 

And is he still buried in that unknown grave? Scarcely 
so, dear reader. Hark! How plainly we hear him at 
this moment, the spokesman of time, proclaiming that it 
is nine o’clock at night! We may therefore safely con- 
clude that some happy chance has restored him to upper 
air. 150 

But there lay the bell, for many silent years; and the 
wonder is that he did not lie silent there a century, or 
perhaps a dozen centuries, till the world should have 
forgotten not only his voice, but the voices of the whole 
brotherhood of bells. How would the first accent of his 


60 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


iron tongue have startled his resurrectionists! But he 
was not fated to be a subject of discussion among the 
antiquaries of far posterity. Near the close of the Old 
French War, a party of New England axe-men, who prc- 
160 ceded the march of Colonel Bradstreet tow^ard Lake On- 
tario, were building a bridge of logs through a swamp. 
Plunging down a stake, one of these pioneers felt it graze 
against some hard, smooth substance. He called his 
comrades, and, by their united efforts, the top of the bell 
was raised to the surface, a rope made fast to it, and thence 
passed over the horizontal limb of a tree. Heave-oh! 
up they hoisted their prize, dripping with moisture, and 
festooned with verdant water-moss. As the base of the 
bell emerged from the swamp, the pioneers perceived 
i "6 that a skeleton was clinging with its bony fingers to the 
clapper, but immediately relaxing its nerveless gras}), 
sank back into the stagnant water. The bell then gave 
forth a sullen clang. No wonder that he was in haste to 
speak, after holding his tongue for such a length of time! 
The pioneers shoved the bell to and fro, thus ringing a 
loud and heavy peal, which echoed widely through the 
forest, and reached the ears of Colonel Bradstreet and his 
three thousand men. The soldiers paused on their march ; a 
feeling of religion, mingled with home-tenderness, over- 
180 powered their rude hearts ; each seemed to hear the 
clangor of the old church-bell which had been familiar to 
him from infancy, and had tolled at the funerals of all 
his forefathers. By what magic had that holy sound 
strayed over the wide-murmuring ocean, and become au- 
dible amid the clash of arms, the loud crashing of the 
artillery over the rough wilderness path, and the melan- 
choly roar of the wind among the boughs? 


A bell’s biography 


61 


The New-Englanders hid their prize in a shadowy nook, 
betwixt a large gray stone and the earthy roots of an 
overthrown tree; and when the campaign was ended, 
they conveyed our friend to Boston, and put him up at 
auction on the sidewalk of King street. He was sus- 
pended, for the nonce, by a block and tackle, and being 
swung backward and forw^ard, gave such loud and clear 
testimony to his own merits that the auctioneer had no 
need to say a word. The highest bidder was a rich old 
representative from our town, who piously bestowed the 
bell on the meeting-house where he had been a worshipper 
for half a century. The good man had his reward. By 
a strange coincidence, the very first duty of the sexton, 200 
after the bell had been hoisted into the belfry, w^as to 
toll the funeral knell of the donor. Soon, however, those 
doleful echoes were drowned by a triumphant peal for 
the surrender of Quebec. 

Ever since that period our hero has occupied the same 
elevated station, and has put in his word on all matters 
of public importance, civil, military, or religious. On 
the day w^hen Independence was first proclaimed on the 
street beneath, he uttered a peal which many deemed 
ominous and fearful, rather than triumphant. But he 210 
has told the same story these sixty years, and none mis- 
take his meaning now. When Washington, in the fullness 
of his glory, rode through our flower-strewm streets, this 
was the tongue that bade the Father of his Country w^el- 
come! And again the same voice was heard, when La 
Fayette came to gather in his half-century’s harvest of 
gratitude. Meantime, vast changes have been going on 
below. His voice, which once floated over a little pro- 
vincial seaport, is now reverberated between brick edi- 


62 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


220 fices, and strikes the ear amid the buzz and tumult of a 
city. On the Sabbaths of olden time, the summons of 
the bell was obeyed by a picturesque and varied throng: 
stately gentlemen in purple velvet coats, embroidered 
waistcoats, white wigs and gold-laced hats, stepping with 
grave courtesy beside ladies in flowered satin gowns, and 
hoop-petticoats of majestic circumference; while behind 
followed a liveried slave or bondsman, bearing the psalm- 
book, and a stove for his mistress’ feet. The commonalty, 
clad in homely garb, gave precedence to their betters at 
the door of the meeting-house, as if admitting that there 
were distinctions between them, even in the sight of God. 
Yet, as their coffins were borne one after another through 
the street, the bell has tolled a requiem for all alike. What 
mattered it, whether or no there were a silver escutcheon 
on the coffin-lid? ^^Open thy bosom. Mother Earth!” 
Thus spake the bell. ‘‘Another of thy children is 
coming to his long rest. Take him to thy bosom, and let 
him slumber in peace.” Thus spake the bell, and Mother 
Earth received her child. With the self-same tones 
240 will the present generation be ushered to the embraces 
of their mother ; and Mother Earth will still receive her 
children. Is not thy tongue a-weary, mournful talker 
of two centuries? 0 funeral bell! wilt thou never be 
shattered by thine own melancholy strokes? Yea, and 
a trumpet-call shall arouse the sleepers, whom thy heavy 
clang could awake no more ! 

Again — again, thy voice, reminding me that I am wast- 
ing the “midnight oil.” In my lonely fantasy, I can 
scarce believe that other mortals have caught the sound, 
250 or that it vibrates elsewhere than in my secret soul. But 
to many hast thou spoken. Anxious men have heard thee 


A bell’s biography 


63 


on their sleepless pillows, and bethought themselves 
anew of to-morrow’s care. In a brief interval of wake- 
fuless, the sons of toil have heard thee, and say, ^‘Is 
so much of our quiet slumber spent? — is the morning 
so near at hand? ” Crime has heard thee, and mutters, 
^‘Now is the very hour!” Despair answers thee, ^^Thus 
much of this weary life is gone!” The young mother, 
on her bed of pain and ecstacy, has counted thy echoing 
strokes, and dates from them her first-born’s share of 260 
life and immortality. The bridegroom and the bride 
have listened, and feel that their night of rapture flits like 
a dream. Thine accents have fallen faintly on the ear of 
the dying man, and warned him that, ere thou speakest 
again, his spirit shall have passed whither no voice of time 
can ever reach. Alas for the departing traveler, if thy 
voice — the voice of fleeting time — have taught him no les- 
sons for eternity ! 


64 


THE CRANE CLASSICS 


NOTES. 


12. Tongue-governed democracy. A government of the people, where 
public opinion and not military power rules. 

17. Vicissitudes. Changes. 

31. Romish. Roman Catholic. 

34. Louis the Fourteenth. Ruler of France in the latter part of 
the seventeenth century. 

35. Bourbon. The royal house of France during the seventeenth 
and eighteenth centuries. 

41. Jesuits. A priestly order whose especial work was in mission- 
ary labors. 

60. Saint Peter’s. The great church at Rome. 

108. Mr. Rogers. The Puritan pastor. 

117. Papistry. Roman Catholic doctrine. 

118. Gibberish. Unmeaning talk. 

158. Old French War. French and Indian War. 

160. Colonel Bradstreet. Commander of a colonial force on the 
frontier. 

204. Surrender of Quebec. Which virtually ended the French war. 

215. La Fayette. The French commander who served with the col- 
onists in the American Revolution returned to visit America in 1824. 
His visit was one continual ovation, and the land he had helped to 
make free paid him all honor. 

228. A stove for his mistress’s feet. Foot-stoves of hot soapstone 
were common. The meeting-houses were seldom warmed in any 
way. 

234. Escutcheon. The shield or ground on which is emblazoned a 
coat-of-arms. 







• 'm:^ 

1 .f f 


i 

■V, 


t •*«: 


• V 



ti \:^y\ 


fi* 


- 1# 





Ci/^ ‘V •Vl-'*'. •/ 


<>»4 



fL «*. 




< 1. .’j'i * . i 


e-v -.-.J. . ■•-■ ,. * fer’ 


si. » »- - 


5»j 



t-i 


i^‘. 


;'rW'i.i,i:l' 'v'..'v'' ■*'V' -J 


vL%’ ^ * rv jf 



.'<1 

.X'‘. 'r 


•i I » y. . SI -.- • rLf ‘ 





t jtji 

i. -''V 

IT.,, ^ ♦’.* 



^ . XT X :•■**>, 


- r 


■Si 


» 

i' 


mm. 


. T 'K 


• - >E^S^ ■# 





i-j »-'*;• i. 
■■ . - :'": . -'v ‘^-T -r/ 








*■-6 



/:■- * B 




. . »j‘Vv V i 

Im 


/ 


« A 


w 


M <>. '* 
« 1 ^^ 


• f> * X. ^ « .»A ^ ^ 

■ ; e . .4 

M ‘ 

V. ‘ilL 


; #' ■ ^ ■»ivv. ■; 'V? '.;'Aj f,™ ., '-^45 



t • 


* Vi 




u:U 


-*r>i 


‘V“ •,*rfc-l*-- 

--■ , '. fc'Ii 


b^'*v 


# ■ ^ j^' r \K‘' . - ,■ ^''if-^": *-•. . ;: 

W 


'■ <’ 

4 


r 'I 


MAY >5 .eoa 


i* 

4 . 


.4 


/><' *n 
:?-■ * 




% 





* 


« * 

* 

• i 

•■■' V 

1 


I 





« 









